Learning to Live with Hermione
by Alayna
Summary: Ron's thoughts and feelings on living with Hermione. Romance, fluff, and hopefully a bit of humor to help digest said fluff.
1. Default Chapter

"Checkmate." I said while trying to keep from smiling, "Want another game?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair.

"I'll take that as a no then."

"You'd be taking it right," she replied, smirking.

I was quiet for about two minutes while Hermione started reading, but three minutes of silence is really too much to ask for, in my opinion.

"So you're just going to read for the rest of the night I suppose?"

"You suppose right." She countered without averting her gaze from the huge book in her lap.

"And you'll be ignoring me."

"Wow Ron, three for three! Must be a new record for you!" she exclaimed in a mock-excited voice.

"Very amusing, Hermione," I said, smiling again.

"I know," she said, smiling smugly.

"You know everything."

"I know," she said simply, and then went back to reading the very Hermione-like book.

I felt a bit like carrying on the…harmless bantering, but I didn't want to venture into the not-so-harmless bantering, so I resisted the urge. One thing—or one of the things, rather—that Hermione did not like was to be interrupted while she was reading. I had learned that the hard way…a few times. I could risk it when we were at Hogwarts, as there were other people around, and she wouldn't murder me in front of witnesses…I think. But I did know for sure that she was more likely to injure me when we were alone, which we were more often since we moved in together after 7th year ended.

At first, Harry, Hermione, and I had planned on moving into a flat together when we were finished with school, so we found an affordable flat in muggle London. But then, three weeks before we were supposed to move in, Harry announced that he was moving in with _my sister._ He abandoned me for Ginny. Of course, I could see why she would have an appeal that I don't…but all the same, we already had the flat.

This situation had me down until I grasped the concept that no-Harry meant alone-with-Hermione. Sometime between the middle of sixth year and the end of seventh, I had found out that _alone-with-Hermione_ was a very good thing, if she wasn't mad at me.

And since we were going to be spending so much time together, I decided that it would be the perfect time to find out everything there is to know about Hermione. So, after we moved in together I began my investigation—or what Hermione called pestering. I found out that she can't cook, she's rather sloppy, she likes peppermint but not spearmint, and a number of other things. Including that if you_ pester_ Hermione, she'll lock herself in her bedroom for three hours. I was surprised that I didn't already know these things about her and wanted to know more, but after four days of my investigation, I closed it. My conclusion: Don't investigate Hermione if you want to see your next birthday.

Presently, I took advantage of her interest in the humongous book to examine her features. Yeah, I know, extremely sappy, but hey, she intrigues me. I've been out with girls my brothers have set me up with, you know. But none of them ever looked like Hermione. They were usually blonde and airheads. George told me this was because only an idiot would go out with me. But they weren't much fun, and I figured that even if they were the only dates I could get, I'd rather throw a birthday party for Draco Malfoy than have to sit through an entire dinner with them. Hermione was so incredibly different from them. She actually had an opinion of her own, unlike so many of the blondes. Hell, most of them probably didn't even know what the word _opinion_ means. I know I'm not a genius, but I'm not a complete idiot either.

Then there is the fact that Hermione, however you slice it, is gorgeous. When she's dressed up, she's gorgeous. When she's got ink stains all over her from working late, she's gorgeous. And when she's wearing sweats and an overly large jumper, she's gorgeous, which happened to be exactly how she looked now.

The time she really looks good, like she-looks-so-good-it-makes-me-ache-for-her good, is when she's just had a shower and her hair is curly and her skin is flushed and she looks relaxed. That's when I have to watch my step.

And then I realized that Hermione had looked up at me from her headstone-sized book and was now tilting her head to one side as if she were studying me.

"What?" I asked her, defensively.

"Well, you've been quiet for nearly five minutes now and I thought something must be wrong." She answered, smiling, and then asked, "What were you thinking about?"

"I was thinking about you." I told her honestly.

"I figured," she said smirking. "Your eyes always glaze over when you think about me."

"You're so hilarious tonight," I said sarcastically, though I really was amused.

She shook her head and directed her gaze back to the gigantic book in her lap.

"Hermione?" I said quickly, feeling as though I might slip into oblivion if I didn't hold her attention.

She looked back at me curiously.

"How can you even think of reading right now?" I asked.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because you're supposed to be doing something with me," I said as if it were obvious.

"What am I supposed to be doing?" she asked me, sounding confused.

"I dunno. Anything that involves me." I said, smiling my sweetest smile at her.

She rolled her eyes but smiled and said, "Ronald Weasley, you are the neediest person I have ever met."

"Well then, we fit together perfectly, because you are the most giving person that I have ever met."

She laughed and then replied, "Oh, I see. You need and I give."

"That's how I like to keep things."

She rolled her eyes again.

"But," I started in the most sincere voice I could muster, "if you ever need anything, I'll make sure you get it."

Hermione looked at me and then said in a very quiet voice, "I know that."

"Well then, as long as you know that, could you get me something to eat? I _need _nourishment."

She sighed in a mock-irritated way and closed her book, which is exactly what I wanted her to do. She slid out of her chair and held out her hand, which I took, and she led me towards the kitchen. "Come on _baby_, we'll get you some _nourishment_."

My mind instantly began to reel as her words hit me. What did she mean by calling me baby? Was it because I was acting like a child or was it—something else? And bloody hell, _we'll get you some nourishment? _Was she trying to kill me?

But then I saw the way she was looking at me and I knew what she was playing at.

"Hermione!" I said in a false-shocked voice, "Did you just make an innuendo?"

"Maybe."

"Very good," I said, proudly.

"Thank you."

Hermione walked over to the bread drawer and looked at me questioningly.

"Do you want some toast?"

"Yeah," I said smiling. "Only not so crispy this time."

"As you wish, your royal highness." She said as she gave me an exaggerated bow.

She then went to try her hand at the toasty-thing while humming _Weasley is Our King_. And that was the moment I realized it. I realized why my brothers' attempts at setting me up never seemed to work: It was because I was already with the person I was meant to be with.

And she was standing in my kitchen at this very moment, trying to put out a flaming piece of toast.


	2. 3:00 am

Perfect. Just bloody perfect.

Having the realization that I'm meant to be with my best friend hitting me with the force of the Hogwarts Express was rather unsettling.

Even more unsettling are the dreams. Realizing that I love Hermione seems to have opened a portal through which dreams of us together appear to be traveling through at an alarmingly quick pace.

Alarming.

That pretty much sums up this whole ordeal for me. It's not that I find being with Hermione alarming, it's that fact that now I have to tell her.

_But she already knows._

"But that's not fair. How can she know before me?"

3:00am isn't the best time for anyone—including myself—to talk to me. But tonight my inner voices are being merciless.

Unlike most people who have one inner voice to tell them what to do, I have three. One that tells me what my mother would think, one that tells me what Hermione would think, and one that is as paranoid as Mad Eye Moody.

Now one would think this would _help_ with decisions, but being me, I usually don't listen to them and make my own—usually wrong—choices.

I once told Hermione about these voices, but all she did was feel my forehead and mumble something about St. Mungos, at which I quickly announced that I had been joking. No one is going to lock me up in a ward with Gilderoy Lockhart.

But at the moment, my sleep-deprived mind is having a hard time fighting them off.

"OK," I heard myself say, "so I love Hermione and she knows that I love her."

_Yeah, that's pretty much it. _

"But how does she know?"

_How could she not know? She's not an idiot._

"I didn't know."

_Yeah, well…you are an idiot. _

"Well if she knows, why hasn't she said anything?" I asked loudly, starting to feel annoyed.

_Maybe she thinks it will go away if she ignores it._

"Shut up!"

"Ron?"

"Bloody hell—"

The sound of Hermione's voice shocked me so much that I fell out of my bed and knocked over the bedside table. I found myself on the floor, where I stayed for a few moments and then stood up, smiling at her.

"What's up?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Are you all right?" she asked, looking worried.

"Yep. I'm great."

"I thought I heard shouting," she said, still looking concerned.

"That's because I was shouting."

"Are you going to tell me what you were shouting about?"

"Nope."

"It sounded like you were arguing with someone."

"All right, Detective Granger, enough with the questions."

"Who were you arguing with?"

"It was a dream, okay. That's all."

"Okay," she said softly. Then she laughed and said, "Ron stop flinching, you big baby. You fell all of two feet onto carpet, it can't be that bad."

"I'm not flinch—"

"Yes, you are."

"Fine. I have a low tolerance for pain. Happy?"

"Oh, yes, extremely." She said, rolling her eyes, "my mission in life is to cause you pain and embarrassment."

"You deserve a medal."

She shook her head and then said, "Well, if you're finished yelling, then I suppose I'll go back to bed."

"Wait!"

She turned back and looked at me expectantly.

"You can't just come in my room, wake me up, and then leave."

"_I_ woke _you_ up?" she asked indignantly.

"I mean," I continued, ignoring her, "you didn't even knock."

"_Knock?"_ she said, disbelievingly. "I thought someone was attacking you or something."

"And now I won't be able to go back to sleep," I said, raising the volume of my voice a little more.

"Ronald Weasley! Will you please shut up!"

"So I reckon that you should at least sit up with me until I feel tired again."

"Oh, you do, do you?"

"Oh, yeah. I reckon it would help immensely if you were to do that."

The corners of her mouth twitched slightly and she said, "Well, if you think it will help…I don't have work tomorrow."

"Excellent." I said, smiling, "Let's look at Quidditch Weekly."

"Well that should put me to sleep."

"Hermione—"

"I know. I know…Quidditch is the best thing in the world."

"Well, maybe not the best thing, but it's definitely in the top four."

"Oh, I see," she said with the tone of someone gaining powerful insight to very important things.

"Don't mock me." I demanded as I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the couch in our living room.

"I wasn't mocking."

"Yes you were."

"Maybe a little," she admitted and then seeing the magazine in my hand, she said, "Ron, you're my best friend, and I would do almost anything for you but I'm not going to read a Quidditch magazine to you_."_

"Oh, all right," I said disappointedly. "Let's just talk about Quidditch then."

I sat down on the couch and guided her to sit beside me.

"So…how's work been going for you, Ron?" she asked. "Playing for the Cannons must be a dream come true."

"I'm only a reserve." This was not the direction I wanted to be heading.

"Probably not for much longer," she said, smirking.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Kellerman may not be Keeper for much longer."

"Why?" I asked, suddenly very interested.

"Well," she said slowly, "I'm really not supposed to talk about it."

"Oh, come on Hermione, you talk about the secret things you do for work all the time."

Hermione had become an investigative reporter for the Daily Prophet after we left Hogwarts, and she was usually responsible for all the important articles for the paper. She would be editor if she didn't like exposing evil doers so much.

"Well…I suppose if you don't tell anyone…"

"I won't tell a soul."

"Well, my secret source from the Cannons locker room," here she broke off, pointed at me, and smiled, "tells me that Kellerman and his wife have been arguing for quite some time."

"Yeah and…?"

"And Kellerman seems to be having a little problem with alcoholism."

"But—"

"Wait for it, I'm not finished yet."

"Okay."

"So when I went for an interview with Kellerman, I saw him talking with the coach, who told him that if he showed up drunk for one more game that he wouldn't be playing for the Cannons any longer."

"What!"

"Still not finished, Ron."

"Sorry."

"Well, Kellerman wasn't at all happy with the coach, and just between you and me, he was a little tipsy, so he left the team and said he would find one that appreciates him."

"He left the team? Just like that?"

"Yep."

"But I'm the reserve keeper." I said disbelievingly.

"Yes, you are."

"And if he really left…"

"He did."

"Then I'll be bumped up to the starting position."

"Good use of those deductive reasoning skills, Ron."

"When did you hear about this?"

"After the game on Friday."

"Why didn't you say something before now?"

"I don't know," she said, smiling. "I figured you would want your coach to tell you the good news."

"I don't believe this. I can't believe you waited so long to tell me." I said hysterically.

By now, the excitement was starting to kick in.

Hermione laughed and then said, "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. Now you'll never go back to sleep."

"How can you even think of sleep? This is the best thing that's ever happened to me!"

"Oh, a man becoming an alcoholic, losing his wife, and quitting his job is the best thing that's ever happened to you?"

"Yes, it looks that way."

Hermione laughed and said, "Well, I think you deserve this Ron. You're a great Keeper."

"Thank you." I said quietly, suddenly aware of the alluring night gown Hermione was wearing, and the way her skin was slightly flushed from the heat of the room.

"You're welcome," she said softly, resting her head on my shoulder.

This is the Hermione I love. The one that doesn't seem rushed. The one that makes me feel important; like I'm all that matters. The one that makes jokes and laughs, and has a good time. The one that has all the answers to my problems and always takes time to help me.

Not everyone sees this Hermione. Most people see the business Hermione, who works like there is no tomorrow, and tells off anyone who interrupts her concentration.

No one else, except maybe Harry, sees my Hermione.

But that's the way I like things.

I want her to be mine.

_Maybe you should tell her that, you great prat._

"Hermione, I think I need to tell you something."

No answer.

"Hermione?"

I looked down and saw that she was asleep.

"Perfect. I'm ready to confess my undying love to you, and you're asleep."

_There's always tomorrow. _


	3. Going Out

"Where are you going again?"

"Out."

"Out where?"

"Out with friends."

It was Friday night about a week after I made the decision to tell Hermione how I felt. But oddly enough I hadn't gotten around to actually telling her.

"But I'm not going anywhere and Harry's working."

"I have other friends, Ron," Hermione said exasperatedly.

"Do you? I had no idea."

"Very amusing."

"I thought you'd like that," I said smiling.

What was really amusing though was the fact that Hermione had been rushing about the flat looking for her wand for about 15 minutes. Actually the funny part was that I had the wand. Hey, what was I supposed to do? Let her go out with these so-called friends that I knew nothing about?

"Ron, are you just going to sit there or are you going to help me find my wand?"

"Both. I'm going to sit here and survey the room."

"Well that's incredibly helpful."

"Welcome," I replied brightly.

Hermione scoffed and went to continue her search.

"What's so important about these _friends_?" I asked suspiciously.

"Nothing, I just wanted to have some fun."

"You can have fun with me."

"I'm not having fun with you right now."

"That's odd because I'm having loads of fun with you."

She turned to face me with narrowed eyes.

"I would like my wand," Hermione said in an eerily calm voice.

"I know. You've been looking for it for about 20 minutes now."

"Is it in your pocket?"

"No."

It wasn't. It was up my sleeve.

"If you don't give me my wand, I'll hex you into next week."

"How could you hex me if you don't have a wand?"

Hermione looked as if she was about to explode.

"Ron, please give me my wand."

I pulled her wand out of my sleeve and started to hand it to her.

"What's the magic word?"

"I said please."

"That's not the right word," I said as though please was obviously not the right word, even if I hadn't made up the magic word yet.

"Ron, you are acting like a child."

"I'm young at heart."

Hermione rolled her eyes but I could see the corners of her mouth twitching. She moved to sit beside me on the couch.

"What're you doing?" I asked, startled by her change in tactics.

"You win."

"Huh?"

"I'm not going out anymore. I'm half an hour late as it is."

"I win?"

"Yep."

"Okay, then," I said happily, "What d'you want to do now?"

"Take off these clothes."

"Wha--?"

"Well if I'm not going out, I don't need to wear nice clothes. If I change now, they won't get all wrinkled."

"Right, wrinkled. I knew that."

"Of course you did," she said smiling, "and that's why you were practically drooling."

"I wasn't drooling."

"I said _practically_ drooling."

"Oh."

I must have looked uncomfortable or embarrassed or something because Hermione stopped laughing when she looked up at me.

"I'm only joking, Ron."

"Well, I might have been really close to practically drooling," I said trying to gather up the mush that was my brains before I said something stupid, "but can you blame me? Beautiful woman with no clothes, I reacted normally."

_Too late. _

"Please," she said, rolling her eyes, "the sight of me would make you go blind."

"Blind with lust, maybe."

_Too late again._

"Right," she said doubtfully, giving me an odd look.

I couldn't blame her; I wanted to give myself an odd look.

"I'm serious, I think you're gorgeous," I said causing both myself and Hermione to blush.

_You wanted to tell her you love her. You didn't want to tell her that you would love to jump in bed with her, you stupid sod. _

"You're the only one," she said quietly.

"What?"

"The only man who thinks I'm attractive."

"I damn well better be. Blokes shouldn't be looking at you anyway."

I was serious, but Hermione laughed.

"So you want me to end up an old maid with cats as a replacement for children?"

"You like cats, right?"

"Ron!"

"Only joking."

"I know," she said, leaning her head on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry I ruined you night."

I wasn't really but I reckoned it would be the right thing to say.

"You didn't ruin my night," she said, smiling slightly, "I like you more that the girls at work anyway."

"I'm flattered."

"You should be."

We settled into what would have been a comfortable silence except for I find any silence uncomfortable. It might have something to do with the fact that I grew up in a house with Fred, George, and the ghoul in the attic. I needed to say something, and not just anything. I had to tell her how I felt right this second.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad that Harry doesn't live here."

_Or maybe I'll dance around the subject for a bit._

"Ron! He's our best friend."

"Yeah but I like when it's just us."

She smiled, "Me too."

"Really?"

"Yes."

_Silence._

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Ron?"

"I meant what I said earlier, I do think you're gorgeous."

"Thank you."

_More silence._

"Hermione?"

"What now, Ron?"

_She must like silence._

"Nothing."

"No, I'm sorry," she said sincerely, "I want to talk to about something and you just keep interrupting me."

"But you're not saying anything."

"I'm thinking about what to say."

"Oh."

"Right, so what I wanted to talk about it—"

"What I have to say is really important, Hermione."

_Bloody hell. Now she looks annoyed. _

"What makes you think it's more important than what I have to say?"

"It's not that I think it's more important it's just that in all fairness I should go first."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, really."

"And why is that?"

"Because I am obviously more prepared than you are, I mean you're just thinking about what you want to say right now. I've already thought about it."

"Fine, Ron, you go ahead and say whatever is so important and then—"

"I love you."

"I…you love me?"

"Yeah."

"Since when?"

"I don't know." I answered, honestly, "I just figured it out last week. Now…what did you want to talk about?"

"What?"

"You had something you wanted to talk about."

"Never mind that."

"But—"

"Ron…I love you too."

And then I kissed her. That's right I kissed Hermione Granger. And all coherent thought left my mind, I could only feel. Her soft lips, her hands wrapped around my neck, my heart feeling as if it would beat out of my chest. I wanted it to last forever.

"Ron? Hermione? Are you there?"

Hermione pulled away just as Harry walked into the room.

_Wait, Hermione, that wasn't forever. That was only a few seconds._

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked surprised

"Nice to see you too, Hermione," Harry said, smiling.

"Oh, Harry, it's nice to see you I just wasn't expecting you."

"Yeah, mate, what made you decide to come over tonight? Why not some other night?"

"You okay Ron?" Harry asked.

He seemed concerned. I suspect it was the high-pitched accusatory voice that I was having trouble controlling.

"Fine," I said shortly. "Do you want some tea?"

_I could put it in a travel mug if you like._


End file.
